Into Death's Own Heart
by GlorytotheScourge
Summary: On hiatus, likely permanant, because I suck.
1. Prologue

Well, this is my first story. Forgive the untopical name, I registered ages ago but never submitted anything. Curse that "one account per email address" thing. Spoiler alert for anyone who hasn't played Frozen Throne.

Prologue: The Dead Council of War

_Necromancer-General Driyarov slammed his fist down on the stone arm of his chair. "The Illidanian Remnants are scattered! They can no longer hinder us! The war is in full swing! The battlefields of Azeroth are ripe for the harvesting and the Horde and Alliance are too busy slaughtering each other to notice us! And the Scourge have never been stronger!" He got to his feet and glared at the four other people (if they could be called people) in the chamber around him. Driyarov banged his staff into the ground with each syllable of the next sentence. "And. Still. We. WAIT! Why do we sit here in Northrend and allow our warriors to rot when there is killing to be done?"_

_He sat down. The great beetle-creature standing before the seat across from his shifted and spoke. "Oh, we could send our mighty forces off to battle," Rumbled Anub'Arak. "We could march off to war, driving the pathetic enemies of the King before us. And while you were off slaughtering, General, the hordes of the Forgotten Ones would charge out of their holes and crush us without a fight-" "Oh, for the love of all that's unholy!" cried a banshee on the seat next to Anub'Arak in exasperation. "I have had just about enough of this "Forgotten One" nonsense!" Kelarna Blackminister, the High Priestess of Death, spoke. "You and Lord Arthas destroyed them in the tunnels and collapsed half of Azjol-Nerub on them!" "And they are not dead. A mere cave-in would not even faze them. Were we to start moving out, they would not wait for a second to-" "And we would rip them limb from limb! Nothing can challenge us on our own land!" "You underestimate them, General-"_

_The conversation was about to turn into a shouting match, when a voice rang through the room. **"Enough."** Everyone froze. The voice emanated from the figure seated upon the massive throne of ice at the head of the room. It was a human voice, but underlying it was a power beyond Azeroth. "Forgive, my lord." Said Driyarov. "I simply do not see the cause for concern-" **"Then do not. Anub'Arak, what do you wish done?"** "I would request that a battalion be left here under my command. I will secure Icecrown against the Forgotten Ones, and should they come, I will drive them back." Anub'Arak bowed._

_The figure considered. **"Very well. General, see to it that Anub'Arak gets his troops." **Driyarov bowed. "Yes, my lord." The figure turned to Kelarna. **"Are your banshees prepared?"** "Of course, my lord." She said in her harsh banshee tones. The figure then addressed a lich floating in the chair next to Driyarov. **"I trust the wyrm project is on schedule?"** "Of course." Replied the breathy, chilled voice of Ras Frostwhisper. **"Very well. Have it ready to move by the time we make landfall." ** The figure turned last to a hulking, red-skinned demon sitting nearest him. **"Rorath. The spell is ready, I trust?" **"Yes, sir." Growled the Eredar. "It awaits only the target."_

_The figure stood. Each member of his Council rose and saluted. **"Then let the cry go out. We sail at month's end. Let all who stand before us tremble as the dead march."** "THE DEAD MARCH!" barked the five Council members. "GLORY TO THE SCOURGE!" The great figure nodded and walked from the room, his massive armored heels cracking the stone of the chamber floor. The Council left._

_The massive armored figure exited his citadel onto an ice balcony. He looked out upon his fortress. His great army. His victory. The vast armies of the Undead Scourge. He looked upon what would be the eternal death of Azeroth._

_Ner'Arthas looked upon Icecrown Fortress, and he smiled._

Across the Great Sea, a thousand druids and druidesses woke in their beds, shrieking in horror.


	2. Early Intelligence

Well, here's the first chapter...not much action to start with, but it gets better. R&R please, I require reviews for sustenance. I'm like a review vampire or something.

* * *

Chapter 1: Early Intelligence

Naira awoke in a cold sweat, gasping. She looked around the room frantically, reaching for the dagger under her sheets. It wouldn't do much against a lich, or any of the figures in that room, but-

"Snrrrrkk…." "What in the name of-" "Snnnnrrrrkkkk…." It was at that point she realized that it was the dwarf in the next room snoring. The druidess put down her dagger. "Then…it was all just a dream…." But it had felt so real…she had _seen_ the undead council planning… She laid back down and closed her eyes.

_As if the scene had been painted onto the inside of her eyelids, Ner'Arthas stood upon the cliff, looking out upon his army. He looked to the great runeblade at his side. Below, a rhythmic sound repeated in perfect synchrony. It was the sound of marching. Dozens of men were marching, gathering. Hundreds. Thousands-_ she jerked her eyes open. "I've heard of recurring nightmares, but this is ridiculous…" Experimentally she closed her eyes again.

_thud, thump, thud, thump, thud, thump, thud, thump _She opened her eyes. It was as if the sound of the marching had been jerked from her ears with a disarming tool. Naira shook her head. Maybe it was stress. Or maybe she'd caught something. She'd been in Gnomeragen all afternoon, and cutting up creatures made of radiation with your own claws couldn't be healthy. She slid out of bed, pulling on her night robes. Maybe a hot drink would calm her down.

Naira stepped down the stairs, still going over the dream (if it had been a dream) in her mind. She couldn't get the image of the giant black-armored figure, clutching the gigantic cursed runeblade, out of her mind, couldn't get the sound of the unholy marching out of her ears…. "What kin I get ye, lassie?" Naira was snapped out of her musing by a thick dwarven accent. The innkeeper, a bald, tanned dwarf with a black beard and a rag clutched in one hand looked at her inquisitively. "Water, ale, I got some moonberry juice fresh from Stranglethorn if ye want." "I'll take a hot chocolate." Naira replied. The dwarf nodded and started rummaging under the counter.

Naira had had the human drink before, and found it to have an odd calming effect on her. She looked around the bar while she waited. It contained the usual dwarves and gnomes, drinking ale and swapping war stories, a pair of silent humans in a corner, an Ironforge Guard rifleman, a harassed-looking gnome attempting to tinker with a gadget while holding a wrench in one hand and a mug in the other (with little success), a male night elf sitting farther down the bar, muttering and fiddling with bottles of varying-colored liquid, and a bald gnome with a handlebar mustache and warlock's robes sitting with a bronze-haired dwarf devouring a plate of steak.

_Motley crew, _she thought. But what did she expect in an Ironforge inn? "'Ere ya go, lass." The dwarf slid a frothing mug of hot chocolate at her. She took it and said, "Add it to my bill." Naira drank deeply from the cup and felt some of the stress alleviate as the warm liquid settled into her stomach. She turned and leaned against the bar, sipping. "Hot chocolate, eh?" It was the male elf, who had abandoned his potions and moved to the stool next to Naira. "Bah, I'm not on a diet or anything. Barkeep! A hot chocolate for me, too." He turned. "Evening." Naira took another sip of chocolate. "Evening." She muttered. "What's got you up this late?" "Couldn't sleep." He replied. "I had a bad dream." "Makes two of us." She replied. He muttered something under his breath in Darnassian. She caught two words. It was enough to make her gag on her latest mouthful of chocolate.

"Are you alright?" She coughed one more time. "I'm fine. What was that about "Forgotten Ones?" "Oh, nothing," he said dismissively. "Just something from my nightmare. I saw a number of undead in Northrend planning something. Nonsense about a wyrm and Forgotten Ones." Naira looked at him in astonishment and said quickly, "A lich, a banshee, a necromancer, a demon, a great beetle-creature, and…" "A massive armored figure, speaking in a voice not quite of this world." The other elf's head snapped up to look at her. "How did you know that?" "I had the very same dream."

Naira was suddenly aware of eyes on her. She turned her head slightly to see the dwarf and gnome at the nearby table listening in. The dwarf saw them looking and sat back in his chair. The warlock waved a hand in a dismissive way. "Coincidence. A bug going around or something." Naira drained the last few drops of her hot chocolate and narrowed her eyes at the warlock. "I don't believe in coincidence."

Many consider druids to be pacifists. One dwarf was quoted referring to them as "Pointy-eared butterfly-huggers." This is untrue. Upon hearing that comment, a certain druid referred to that very same dwarf as a term that cannot be repeated in respectable company. In a day and age where nature is under siege by demons, greed, and industry, Druids are not the pacifist healers that jump to the minds of many when the term is mentioned. No, druids are warriors. And they do not go unprotected.

Naira pulled off her robes, dropping them on the bed. She pulled on a set of thick leather pants, followed by a heavy Westfall-made leather tunic. Next came a pair of thick, gnome-enchanted oilrags on her wrists. She slid on a pair of logistics-enhancing cloth mitts, and fastened on a pair of heavy leather spauldrons. She settled a silver, jewel-set circlet (also enchanted) between her pointed ears. "Decked out, as the humans would say…" she muttered. She tucked a leaf-blade dagger into her belt and strapped her long, emberstone-tipped staff onto her back. Lastly, she knotted her long, blue hair into a ponytail. Satisfied with her appearance, Naira headed down the stairs.

She had asked all around the inn and some of the surrounding shops, and the only people who had had odd dreams had been another druid, who was able to quote the undead council's conversation verbatim. It didn't take Naira longer than three seconds to put two and two together, and quickly decided to head to Moonglade. If it was only druids having these dreams, the reason would be there if it was anywhere. She settled herself in position, raised her hands, and began muttering words under her breath. Several seconds passed and a bright light obscured her vision.

When it cleared, she was no longer in the Ironforge tavern. She was in a dim village, surrounded by forested mountains. Moonglade, the ancestral holy place of the druids. Naira had always come here whenever she needed advice or just some peace and quiet.

She had not, however, expected a heated argument to be in progress. A huge assembly of night elf and tauren druids were gathered. Naira spotted Fandral Staghelm, Mathrengyl Bearwalker, the master druid from Darnassus, Dendrite Starblaze, the druid who presided over Moonglade, Loganaar and Kal, the druid trainers, and dozens of others. There were many tauren too, although the only one she recognized was Hamuul Runetotem, the Thunder Bluff Arch Druid.

Naira hurried down the hill to the gathering. An elf at the back spotted her and waved her over. "What the blazes is going on here- oh, don't tell me. Everyone's had the same dream about an undead council planning to destroy the planet, so there's a meeting." The other elf nodded. "Hit the nail on the head, as the dwarves say. Now quiet, Dendrite is speaking."

"I am telling you, this is a sign! Nature is trying to warn us! I have been telling you all for months that the Scourge are the real threat here!" Fandral Staghelm cut him off with a sharp gesture. "The Horde are all but on our doorsteps, Dendrite! Alterac is a bloodbath, we haven't had word from Arathi Basin in weeks, and if we have to send one more Sentinel to the Eastern Kingdoms the Outriders will be marching through the streets of Astranaar in a day! And now you want us to mobilize? On the word of a vision? You must be mad, Dendrite!"

Several druids raised their voices in anger at this, but they were all silenced by the rumbling voice of Hamuul Runetotem. He looked directly at Staghelm. Somehow, though he was only a third as old as any of the night elves, that gaze carried more wisdom and experience than any of them. "I do not think that this can be simply called a vision anymore, Fandral. Every druid on Azeroth has had it. I do not think this is merely a vision. It is a warning." Runetotem gestured forcefully at the glade around him. "Do you not all feel it? There is a gathering."

He paused. Naira closed her eyes and focused. She reached out to the trees. The hills. The earth under her feet. And felt it. The massive, living, presence… Nature. Normally it was serene, like a lake surface in the spring, with a great heartbeat and breath of its own … and yet mighty, avenging itself upon those who had wronged it, directing its warriors, the druids, against defilers…

But today…it was different. The presence was not even and gentle as it normally was. It was hardened, and strong, and….moving. "To the north…" Naira whispered, in unison with every individual present. They all felt it. "Nature is preparing for war, Fandral. You cannot deny it." Rumbled Runetotem. Mathrengyl Bearwalker spoke. "And as nature prepares, so must we." Staghelm was looking more and more harassed by the moment. Finally he seemed to compose himself. "And I suppose we are going to take on Arthas and his unending army of undead with, oh, a thousand druids?"

This seemed to bring Hamuul great amusement. He chuckled and said, "Of course not." His face then fell. "Tell me, Fandral-, no everyone. Think of each time Azeroth has been in danger. The Third War. The Burning Legion. The Undead Scourge. Even this war, now. Think of them, and tell me what they all have in common."

Naira, who read history books almost religiously, thought about it. After an entire minute of silence, she spoke up. "Each time, Azeroth has been in peril. And each time an alliance that was thought impossible was made." Runetotem nodded in approval. "What is your name, night elf?" "Naira Stormsong, Arch-druid Runetotem." "You are correct, Naira. As unfortunate as it may be, a new threat to Azeroth will convince the Horde and Alliance to cease their fighting. Many of them suffered in the Third War."

Loganaar nodded. "Even if the military does not listen to us, Jaina Proudmoore will. And the military will listen to her." A tauren at Runetotem's side spoke up. "Magatha may be an issue, Arch-druid. You know she'd oppose us if we came bearing Darkmaster Gandling's head." "True, Sheal," replied Runetotem. "But she will not oppose Thrall and Cairne, and I feel confident that they will trust us."

Dendrite stood. "Then we are decided?" He looked to Staghelm. "Unless, of course, our venerable Arch-druid has something to say." Staghelm looked as if there was a grouper thrashing about somewhere around his jugular. "Very…well. I'll arrange for messengers to be sent to Ironforge and Stormwind." Runetotem nodded. "I'll inform Orgrimmar and the Undercity." "Oh?" said Staghelm skeptically. "And how will you convince the Forsaken to assist in this? What has nature done for them?" "Ignoring that that remark was close to heresy, Fandral," growled Mathrengyl, "The Scourge are the Forsaken's mortal enemies. If an army is gathering to attack them, Sylvanas will be the first to join us." Staghelm nodded stiffly. Runetotem drew himself up to his (impressive) full height. "Then let us prepare. Ladies and gentlemen, the druids are going to war."


	3. Incriminating Evidence

Well, no reviews yet…possibly because my summary SUCKED. So I'll be a-fixin' that.

* * *

Chapter Two: Incriminating Evidence

"I have told you!" cried Staghelm. "Time and time again, I have told you, the Horde will not cooperate! Regardless of what that," he put an obvious amount of scorn on the word, "Tauren says, the old hatreds run too deep!" "Hamuul Runetotem has more wisdom in one horn than you have in your entire body, Fandral! Would you rather we sit back and let Arthas gather his armies unmolested?" "How dare you speak to the Arch-Druid that way?" One of Staghelm's aides lifted a hand, green lightning already gathering on it. "ENOUGH!" A staff slammed on the Darnassus meeting hall's floor and Jaina Proudmoore cried out in exasperation. "I trust that Thrall and Cairne, yes, even Sylvanas will see reason. King Wrynn believes it. Magni believes it. Mekkatorque believes it." Jaina gestured forcefully around the room as she said this, and then rounded on Staghelm. "So why don't you, Fandral? Why do you not trust that some of the wisest warriors and leaders on Azeroth will not see reason, listen to logic, and make a decision that will save the planet!"

An uneasy silence followed this. At last a soft, wise, firm voice from the end of the table spoke. "Perhaps Fandral believes that the orcs are bloodthirsty berserkers? Perhaps, thinks of the Forsaken as mindless abominations?" Tyrande Whisperwind's face contorted into a death glare aimed directly at Staghelm. "Such beliefs are foolhardy, outdated, and would come from a person with the brainpower of a drunken kobold. So I certainly hope that that is not what you believe." Staghelm's mouth was opening and closing silently in rage, His face was turning a deeper shade of purple. "Of course not!"

Tyrande's expression did not soften. The entire room was waiting with bated breath. "Then why, pray tell, are you so reluctant to enter a coalition with them?" Staghelm did not answer for a few moments. At last he lowered his hands to his lap and said, "I am not reluctant. I am merely concerned that the long war will have amplified the enmity between the Alliance and the Horde. And there will be those that will doubt the word of a druid's vision as proof enough to put a war on hold and start another one." He gesticulated wildly as he spoke, and the room listened intently.

Only one person in Darnassus knew those gestures for what they were. And it was that person's knowledge that would, quite possibly, save the night elves.

"Hold it, Gren." Ettius held up a hand. "Hit the stop button." "Which one's tha stop button?" "Oh for- We went over it twice before we came up here!" The dwarf and gnome were perched on the meeting hall's roof, listening in on the Alliance meeting using one of Ettius's gadgets. Grennal, the dwarf, had no idea why they were doing so, but Ett had a hunch of some sort and when people didn't do what Ett said, things tended to start burning. "It's the button with the two bars on it. Hellfire, let me…" Ett hurried over and hit a button on the device. The picture coming through the tube which extended through the hole in the meeting house roof froze. Ett scrutinized it for a second, and his eyebrows rocketed to the top of his head. "Well, that's interesting."

"Oh, out wit it already! Wot tha 'eck 're we doin' up 'eere?" cried Grennal. "If anyone spots us listenin' in, we'll get arrested fer sure!" "Oh? I'm not the expert on elven customs," said Ett, packing up his gadget, "But I wasn't aware you got put in jail for exposing lawbreakers." Gren was now thoroughly confused. "Wha?" Ett's face was set in a determined scowl, which might have looked more impressive if not for the handlebar mustache cutting it in half. "That's no ordinary political tirade. Staghelm was using magical gestures. I don't know what they were for, but seeing as how "Old hatreds run deep" aren't spellcasting words, he was casting something silently. And since when are night elves proficient enough in magic to cast anything silently, let alone something that might help in a speech?" "So…yer sayin'…" "Yep. We're going to Staghelm's quarters."

Grennal and Ettius were old buddies. After the meeting in Moonglade, word of the Scourge and a possible offensive against them had spread, and like any adventurers, the hunter and warlock had wanted to be where the action was. And that would be Darnassus, the druidic capitol of the world. However, on arriving, Ett had detected a powerful source of magic somewhere in the city, and after two weeks of stakeout proving that none of the visiting mages or Jaina Proudmoore was the source of it, Ett had decided to spy on the night elf brass. Now they would find out if it was going to pay off.

"'Eavy guard. I toldja this was crazy." Two Sentinels stood at the base of the ramp to Staghelm's quarters, and Gren had spotted three more at the top with his scope. "Gotcha covered." Replied Ett, pulling what looked like a stick of dynamite with legs out of his pack. "That thing looks like a bomb wit' legs." "And that's precisely what it is." Ett started adjusting something on the "bombwalker" and said without looking up, when I say go, shoot a concussive round at that house at the foot of the tree." Gren was completely lost now, but nodded. "Whatever you say, psycho…" He pulled out his rifle and slid the specialty bullet into it. Ett placed the bomb-walker-thing on the ground and hit a button on its side.

It proceeded to skitter forward to the left side of the tree and detonate violently. With the speed and efficiency of trained, hardened soldiers the Sentinels at the bottom hurried toward the sound. At the same time, Ett hissed. "Now!" Grennal pulled the trigger. The gun fired and the shot rocketed into the house. Something shattered. An elf screamed. Ett grinned.

Two of the upper guard Sentinels hurried down the platform, one heading toward the house, the other toward where Gren and Ett were crouching. _Crap…_ thought Gren. Ett just ducked farther. The Sentinel took a step – and promptly collapsed silently.

"Okay, wot the hell was that?" Grennal almost shouted. "Tiny little dart full of tranquilizer on the ground. She stepped on it." "Ya scare me sometimes, ya know tha'?" "Yep. Now shush." The third Sentinel was edging down the platform. "Now what? Ya have another of those lil' darts?" Ett's smile was fading. "No." Then what do we do?"

"Um…" Ett muttered. "I have no idea. I didn't think we'd get this far." Grennal slapped his forehead. "We're in too deep. If we're goin' ta get arrested it migh' as well be fer a complete crime." And he jumped out of the grass and shot the Sentinel in the head with a concussive shot. She dropped like a stone, unconscious. Ettius seemed torn between being impressed and skeptical, but quickly decided to not worry. "Right. Good job. Let's go."

They hurried up the ramp, looking to the side. Two of the Sentinels, the ones that had been investigating Ett's bomb, were charging back to the bottom. "Crap." Muttered Ett. "Ya think we could have just asked?" growled Gren. Ett didn't answer. Instead he pulled a very large copper bomb out of his pack.

The day a dwarf and a gnome can outrun two night elf soldiers is a hot day in Northrend, but Gren and Ett's head start was sufficient to get them to the top before the Sentinels caught up to them. Ett turned, lit the bomb, and hurled it down the ramp. "Hit the deck!" he yelled, about two seconds before the bomb detonated, sending chunks of ramp hurtling through the air. The Sentinels stood on the edge of the destroyed ramp section for a few seconds, and then pulled out longbows.

"SON OF A-" The two adventurers made it inside the room just in time to avoid being skewered by a pair of precisely-aimed arrows. Gren slammed the door and bolted it, panting hard. Then a thought struck him. "Waita seccund. Since when do night elves have locks on their doors?" "Precisely." Muttered Ett, and began rifling through the papers on Staghelm's desk. "Gren, search the drawers. Show me anything you can't make head or tail of that isn't written in Darnassian."

The two searched for five minutes before a commanding female voice yelled, "This is Shandris Feathermoon of the 1st Darnassian! Come out with your hands either up or in non-spellcasting positions!" Gren almost screamed, "See! We're goin' ta get busted!" Ett just kept searching the desk. "Fine," muttered Gren. "Doon't come runnin' ta me when we're locked up in prison." Ett suddenly sat up straight. "Of course…" And he pulled the drawer from the desk. It fell to the floor, papers and knickknacks flying everywhere. Ett proceeded to draw his dagger and stab the underside of it repeatedly. Gren didn't say anything. They were doomed anyway. Suddenly the wood cracked and the drawer split it two.

Revealing a hidden, half-inch-thick compartment in the drawer's structure. A single piece of paper slid out of it. Ett picked it up and scanned it. He proceeded to swear foully. "That traitorous, heretical, insane son of a succubus…." He turned to Gren. "Open the door." "Finally yer speakin' sense!" Gren crossed to the door, unbolted it, and swung it in, fairly yelling, "Doon't shoot! We don't wanna fight!" Grennal gulped as the door opened to show eight Sentinels, including Shandris Feathermoon, all of them aiming longbows at the door. "Don't make a move." One of them growled. Ett called from the inside, "You, Sentinels! I suggest you have a look at this!" Ett edged out of the room, holding the paper up, the other hand in plain view. Feathermoon nodded once and a Sentinel stepped forward, taking it. She took one look and her eyes widened. She whirled to Feathermoon, tossing the paper to her. Feathermoon's reaction was identical. "Lower your bows, for the love of Elune!" She yelled a command and the group followed her down the ramp. She called over her shoulder. "You two come with us! We might need you!"

Gren could stand it no longer. "WOT THA HELL IS ON THAT PAPER THA'S GETTIN' EVERYONE SO RILED UP!" Ett told him. Gren shut up, loaded his gun, and hurried after the Sentinels.

"And what of the recent slaughters in Warsong Gulch! Casualty ratios four to one in favor of the 16th! The Horde will not be forgiving that in a hurry! I implore you, cease this endeavor and mobilize the Alliance! We do not need the Horde! We shall-

The door banged open, cutting off Staghelm in mid-tirade. Fifteen Sentinels, Shandris, Grennal, and Ettius arrived in the room and trained their weaponry (and a shadow bolt) on Staghelm. "What is the meaning of this-" "Fandral Staghelm," barked Shandris, "You are under arrest for heresy, illegal use of magic, and willful imprisionment of another night elf." The room was silent for a moment.

Shandris nodded to a Sentinel, who crossed the room and handed the paper from Staghelm's room to Jaina. The sorceress looked it over for a moment, her expression growing more disbelieving with every line she read. At last she put the paper on the table, looked around the room, and said, "This is the formula for a spell that would release magical energy into the Emerald Dream, creating a paradox from the utter incompatibility of the two. It would completely freeze everything at the point the energy was released into. The energy is a binding spell targeted at Malfurion Stormrage."

You could have cut the silence with a dagger. Jaina utter one more sentence. "And the scroll is used. The spell has already been cast." Every eye in the room went either to Staghelm or Tyrande, whose faces were slowly turning to horror and rage respectively. At last Tyrande was looking at the Arch-Druid in a way that would have made Archimonde soil his pants and run. She walked to the corner, took up her bow, and strung it. "Sentinels. Dismissed. Everyone. Out of the room. Now." She nocked an arrow. "Except for you, Fandral." The room's occupants filed out without another word.

The arrow's tip burst into flame.

Tyrande turned, aimed, and fired.

When the group entered the room a minute later, there was nothing left of Fandral Staghelm but a smoking crater on the floor.

* * *

Okay, that was officially a long chapter. For the record, I haven't gotten very far in WoW and haven't read any of the books. A ton of this probably contradicts what actually happened/happens in Warcraft. I don't care and I'm going to write my story. Review, or face the wrath of my rotten ninja cheese wheels. 


End file.
